"Shoot, that's no problem, Captain." The sergeant beamed, his teeth showing though his fierce beard. "I'd have room for one of 'em-mebbe both-in the sidecar of my hawg. I can keep an eye on 'em myself!"
"Your what?"
"Mah hawg... my hover cycle. I'll tell you, Captain, I never have been able to figure out why the military doesn't use 'em in combat. They worked fine for us in civilian life, and they can go anywhere one of those glide boards can."
Phule had a vague feeling that he had just been maneuvered into letting Chocolate Harry ride his hover cycle into combat. Still, if it was. efficient...
"Tell you what, C.H. Bring your... hawg... by after duty hours tomorrow. I want to take a look at it myself."
"Right, Cap'n!"
"Oh, and C.H., while we're on the subject of the nonhumans in the company, what weapon do you think would be best for Tusk-anini?"
"Tusk?" The sergeant blinked. "Heck, Cap'n. It don't matter none what you have him carry. He ain't gonna shoot it, anyway. "
"I beg your pardon?"
"I thought you knew, Cap'n. The Voltron may look like some kinda big stomper, but he's a strict pacifist. Won't even raise his voice to anyone, much less a weapon."
It was late when the commander leaned back, stretching from the litter of notes on the table in his bedroom, and decided to call it a day. No sooner had he reached his decision, however, than he realized he was hungry. He had worked through the dinner hour (again) and knew that the hotel restaurant was long closed, as was the bar. Still, now that his concentration was broken, an emptiness in the vicinity of his stomach reminded him than he should feed it something or he'd have trouble getting to sleep.
There was a vending machine which dispensed snacks, but that was two floors down (apparently people living in penthouse suites weren't supposed to patronize vending machines), but he had dismissed Beeker several hours ago, and was loath to call on the services of the Legionnaire who would be on communications duty in the main room with no justification other than his own laziness. It seemed he had no choice but to stir his stumps and run the errand himself.
Having reached that decision, Phule felt the momentary tug of politeness and chose to exit his lair through the duty area.
"I'm going down for some noshies," he announced, opening the connecting door while feeling in his pocket for some change. "Can I get you anything while I'm at it?"
The Legionnaire on duty started and looked up from her magazine as if he had shot at her, then ducked her head, shaking it in a quick negative, but not quite fast enough to hide the fact that her face had colored with a blush like a tomato on a seed catalog before she did.
The commander paused, studying the woman as his memory flashed data from files and conversations across his mind.
That's right. This was the Legionnaire named Rose the lieutenants had been talking about. As they had noted, she was attractive enough, with ash-blond hair and the kind of figure usually described as willowy. Of course, her tendency to try to crawl back inside her uniform like a turtle when spoken to did nothing to enhance her appearance.
Brandy had suggested skipping over her when her name came up on the duty roster, but Phule insisted on letting her take her turn at communications like everyone else. Now, looking at her bowed head and averted eyes, he wondered if he shouldn't have been more flexible. From the way she was acting, if a call came in she'd probably faint rather than answer it.
"Say, have you got change for a dollar?" he said, trying once more even if it meant ignoring the coins in his pocket.
The total reaction to his question consisted of a deepening of Rose's blush and another quick shake of her head.
Tenaciously the commander wandered closer, trying to edge into her line of vision.
"While we're talking, I'm curious about your reactions to my reorganization of the company. Do you see it as an improvement or just a waste of everyone's time?"
Rose turned her head away from him, but finally spoke.
"Mmphl gump hmm ol."
Phule blinked a couple times, then leaned closer.
"Excuse me... what was that again? I couldn't quite hear you."
The Legionnaire seemed to collapse in on herself, answering only with a feeble shake of her head and a shrug.
The captain abandoned his efforts, realizing that to push further would be, at best, a cruelty.
"Well, I'll be off now," he said, heading for the door. "I'll only be a few minutes if anyone calls in."
Rose relaxed a bit as he retreated, acknowledging his departure with nothing more than a vigorous nod.
As soon as he closed the door behind him, Phule puffed out his cheeks in a long exhale as if he had been holding his breath. He realized, with no small surprise, that dealing with someone as shy as Rose had the effect of making him nervous. The bashful Legionnaire's painful bashfulness made him immensely self-conscious, and throughout the "conversation" he had found himself trying to figure out what he was saying or doing to make her so uncomfortable. All in all, he came out of it feeling like he was the one who shot Bambi's mother.
Lost in thought, Phule decided to take the stairs down to the vending-machine floor instead of waiting for an elevator.
It was easy to see why the lieutenants-and probably anyone else she had been assigned to-thought of her as a problem case. He would try to talk to Rose again, sometime when he wasn't so tired. Maybe if he was more alert he would be able to find a way to put her at her ease. As it was, it was hard to relax around someone who constantly reacted to you as if you were some kind of a monster.
As if on cue, a nightmare rose off the steps at his feet, stopping his descent-and his heart-in midstride.
"Wha... Oh! Jeez, Tusk-anini. You scared the... I didn't see you there."
"Not apologize, Captain. Many scared by me when expected. You not expect see me so scared."
The big Voltron shook his head, though Phule noted he rotated it around his nose like a dog instead of pivoting his chin back and forth on his neck as a human would. There was no denying this nonhuman Legionnaire cut a formidable, if not terrifying, figure under the best of circumstances, much less when encountered unexpectedly in a stairwell late at night.
Nearly seven feet tall with a massive, barrel chest, Tusk-anini towered over all but the tallest of humans, and even those had to look up to meet his black, marblelike eyes. His brown-olive skin more closely resembled an animal hide than human flesh in color and texture, particularly when complemented by substantial amounts of dull-black hair. Crowning the entire effect was a misshapen face only a mother-or, one assumes, another Voltron-could love. It was elongated and protruded into an unmistakable snout, and his two tusklike canines jutted from his lower jaw on either side of his nose, presumably the feature the Legionnaire took his name from.
"Incidentally I'm sorry we haven't spoken before," the commander said, still struggling to regain his composure.
"Again, no apologize, Captain. Know you busy. Do good job, too. Will help any way you want."
Phule only listened to the Voltron's response with half an ear, the rest of his attention being claimed by the stack of books in the stairwell.
"What were you doing here, anyway, Tusk-anini? Reading?"
The Legionnaire nodded, his head moving in exaggerated up-and-down motions like a horse fighting a bit.
"I no need much sleep, so read lots. Came here so roommate not have to sleep with light on in room."
Phule had squatted down to examine the books and looked up with new speculation in his eyes.
"These are pretty heavy reading. How come you brought so many?"
"Will read whole stack tonight."
"The whole stack?"